Free to Fall
by Isys
Summary: [Boromir/Legolas implied] Set in FotR movie-verse; a short interlude in Moria after Legolas rescues Boromir from falling off the broken flight of stairs.


Title: Free to Fall (1/1)

**Author:** Isys (ff_isys@yahoo.com)

**Rating:** PG

**Genre/s:** [implied] slash, semi-AU, mild angst, movie-verse

**Pairing:** Boromir/Legolas

**Summary:** Set in the FotR movie; a short interlude in Moria after Legolas saves Boromir from nearly falling off the broken flight of stairs. 

**Disclaimer:** _The Lord of the Rings_ is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien, including all characters, names, and concepts herein. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is purely for entertainment purposes only.

**AN:** Keep in mind that this is **SLASH** - if that offends or disturbs you in any way, then this isn't the story for you. This is my first attempt on this pairing; the Elrond/Glorfindel inspiration for the fic I'm currently working on is running a bit low, so indulge me for a minute. Do leave a review after reading!

For references or to refresh your memory on the basis of this fic, I suggest you watch your FotR DVD/VCD's again - the scene in Moria right after Gandalf realizes there is a Balrog and in their haste, Boromir almost runs right off a broken flight of stairs.

* * *

  
I have ventured through many dark places in the world, but the Mines of Moria was one of those unfathomable even in my worst nightmares. Devoid of any source of light save the fire that blazed beneath us, smothered with air so bleak and cold that smelled of the rotting stench of death and old age, and a nameless chill that haunted each of us nine. If it were not for the dim glimmer from Gandalf's staff, we would have been blinder than we already were.

For indeed we were, just by knowing that we chose this route when we could have headed south for the Gap of Rohan. Many times I questioned why I allowed myself into this burden, but finding no such answer, I would only reassure myself that this was for the good of Gondor.

Gondor was worth however huge a risk - walking through waist-deep snow, trekking miles in a world bereft of sunlight... and this, the foreboding sense of malice that crept over us as the bright light and unquenchable heat of what was unmistakably a fire lit up the end of the long hallway.

Gandalf's lips parted to utter two words. "A Balrog."

I closed my eyes in weariness. The creature was vaguely familiar, but I did not need to know what it was to know that it was yet another foul being.

"Run!"

And so I ran, more so lately out of habit than necessity, for it seemed like we did little more than flee from fell creatures who lived to pursue those who came within the walls of the mines. A doorway-like opening was ahead of us, followed by a stretch of stairs that led downwards to some unknown destination. Nonetheless I eagerly made for it, my footsteps heavy against the stone; my only thought was to lead the company wherever the stairs may go - to safety.

I could not have been more wrong. For the stairs stretched out, not to a safer route, but to a blackness so dark that it could have been nothing.

"Look out!" came a cry from behind me.

Instinctively I came to an abrupt halt; however, not swiftly enough.

The torch fell from my hands to the dark, fathomless abyss below, and bounced against the walls of the chasm, fading gradually into silence with no trace of ever reaching a solid bottom.

And with increasing dread, I realized that I was close to doing the same, and should I do so, only a miracle would save me from certain death at the hands of the fires that had been burning for years longer than even Gandalf had lived, if the fall itself failed to kill me. My hands groped but felt naught; the remainder of the stairs beneath my feet had begun to crumble, falling stone by stone to the nothingness below. I was no stranger to death - I have fought and defended myself and my city through many battles - yet somehow it had never dawned on me of how it possibly felt - a mixed sensation of helpless drowning and promised bliss that everything would soon be over. Was it not? 

Already I could literally see flashes of my short life before my eyes - images of my father, the radiance of the White Tower in Minas Tirith, its seven gates seeming to forever close upon my mind... The call was as terrifying as it was welcoming, and for a moment I closed my eyes...

... until I felt an arm reach out from behind me, gripping the front of my shirt and pulling me back.

Although I was dazed as my rescuer and I fell backwards, I wondered who he was. It may have been Aragorn, or maybe the dwarf, but - to my surprise a lock of golden hair spilled over my neck - 

- never did I imagine that it would have been him. Legolas.

All my life I rarely had dealings with elves, for what was left of their kindred in the lives of the men in Minas Tirith were fading memories of an alliance long sundered. I knew them not, and they seemed to know little of my people as well. And so when I had first laid eyes on them during the Council of Elrond, I considered them a fair but strange race. Such refined dignity befitting of nobility, yet a certain lack of pride and self-assurance I was so accustomed to back among men. It was clear why their people and mine had little to do with each other.

It was only when I heard him speak that my belief was, for the first time, challenged.

_[Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The ring must be destroyed.]_

No, Legolas, I heard every single word. But only now did I ever listen.

I was momentarily taken by the force of his conviction. Had I heard it from someone else - from the proud mouths of my kin, for instance - I would have dismissed it as a clumsy attempt at self-importance, but the earnest fervor in Legolas' voice was heartrending and brutally honest at the same time. He stood by the truth regardless, and it mattered to him not if the One Ring - the despicable treasure that most probably all of us secretly and sinfully desired - were to be destroyed at the expense of human lives. At the expense of _his_ life.

He had come to the council for the truest purpose. And so when he pledged his service to the Ringbearer, I thought of little else; immediately I pledged mine as well. If I could not defend him up to the very fires of Mordor, I would do so... for you, Legolas. You are unaware, for we barely spoke throughout the entire journey from Rivendell, but for the precious lesson you had unknowingly taught me, I owe you and trust you with this much.

My gratitude. My life. And if time so allows... my soul.

But we have a mission to accomplish, and all I can trust you with now is my back.

After what seemed like hours on end I finally regained my bearings; I realized the close proximity of our bodies, feel his heartbeat against my shoulder close enough for my breath to caress the delicate tip of his ear, or to rest a gentle kiss on the sweet curve of his high cheekbones. But my reluctance allowed me only to briefly clasp his hand in mine - to relish the touch of his skin against my own, pleasantly pure before the fires of what was inevitable to come could extinguish it.

At long last, I know now why I harbored no regret in joining the fellowship.

"Thank you," I told him softly, yet meaning every word.

He may not have heard it, or truly believed in my gratitude, for I never showed nor gave him any reason to. But I knew one thing, as clear and bright as the light in his eyes.

By some luck or chance, or some twisted trick of fate, Legolas had been there.

And now I was safe.

-------------------

_In your eyes faint as the singing of a lark _

_That somehow this black night_

_Feels warmer for the spark, warmer for the spark_

_To hold us 'til the day when fear will lose its grip_

_And heaven has its way_

-- The Corrs, "No Frontiers"


End file.
